REFLECTIONS: Dad's Anniversary
It was December 14th - exactly one year ago - and Angus knew this was Dad's last day. I felt it in my heart, too, and so I sat in Dad's cozy chair and reassured both him and Gus that everything will be alright. My old pup pinned back his ears and peered at me, as though trying to convey a sorrowful and intense message.
I know, Gus.
It'll be okay.
I love you, Dad.
It'll be okay.
It didn't feel okay, but what could anyone do about it? Time marches onward and, if we can't hold the bad stuff at bay, we should embrace all the good parts as they arrive.
Two days ago, I fulfilled my promise to put Christmas up. After I pushed the lit tree back into the corner, I went to his bed and whispered to him, "Daddy, the tree is up."
His mouth's corners lifted slightly. This would be the last time my father communicated with us. He slipped even further after that.
My mother loves to share the story of his last moments, but she always screws up the details. Toni and Jeff were coming down the stairs, she begins. But that's not how it happened, nor does she let it sink in when I tell her the details.
This morning, I napped in the recliner next to his bed until the nurse arrived. She reiterated to my mother that Dad's time was short. I made up my mind to sit vigil with him after Mum went to bed.
I came down a little after 6 PM to let Hershey out and then grab something for dinner. We came back in and I heard a soft sigh.
I approached Dad's bed and put my hand on his chest. There wasn't any rise and fall. It took every ounce of professionalism to not race to revive him. Instead, I checked his radial and brachial artery, then his carotid. No pulse. I pressed my nose against his warm forehead and told him over and over how much I loved him.
These final moments with him bring me comfort. I was there. The heart stops and the mind drifts. There isn't any pain for our loved one but it's been suggested that sound is the last sense to go.
My father passed away one year ago today at 6:25 PM. I'm at peace with the memory. My father spent his last precious moments swathed in love.
And I've lost my daddy, my first friend, the man that made bunny prints in the shag rug every Easter until I was to old for such things.
He is gone but I carry him with me in my heart. I have the same fingers, the same wry sense of humor, the same quiver of the chin when holding back sorrow.
And when he's old and grey
And slowly fades away,
I'll still be Daddy's little girl
And I will still love him.
Dad, I miss you.
___________________
Quoted material from my personal blog: REFLECTIONS: the night my father died